


Evergreen

by windsilk



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, ouch that's my heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 01:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16985730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsilk/pseuds/windsilk
Summary: From my rotting body flowers shall grow, and I am in them, and that is eternity.In the aftermath of the war, Ino deals with the loss of her father.





	Evergreen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zinthos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinthos/gifts).



-

-

Ashes whisper in the air for days after the end of the war.

At the edge of the graveyard, a stone craftsman works rhythmically at the glossy black obelisk. The clink of metal against stone, every name of every fallen soldier, resounds across the space, echoing. Even the trees and their rustling leaves are quiet.

The funeral pyre crackles and wails.

Ino does not get to see her father’s last rites performed. Ino does not get to see much of anything, eyes blinded by hot tears. She sees the hazy outline of Neji’s body surrounded by white chrysanthemums, smells the tobacco off of Shikamaru’s cigarette beside her, remembers the bitter taste of her father’s last words to her–his pride, his love.

Her black-clad shoulders slump, and Chouji’s knuckles brush against hers as they stand with the procession.  

This is not what victory is supposed to feel like.

-

Sai visits her at 11:53am on a Thursday. “And I thought Ugly was ugly,” he greets with an empty smile and a wave as she opens the door, fingers tight around the knob.

She hasn’t washed her hair in a while, and it hangs from her scalp, oily and heavy. She smells vaguely like nicotine–Shikamaru had left his pack behind on accident, and she had burned through them in a day. There is dirt crusted under her fingernails from when she had tried to garden in the early, listless hours of the morning–forget me nots.

“Fuck off.” The rash of anger is slow to burn, though, and her words are hollow.

He enters through the door without invitation, and it is only then that Ino notices he is carrying a small, glass jar–small enough to be for cosmetics or a spice in the kitchen–and holds it out to her. It is filled with a dark gray powder.

“Tsunade had some people collect the dust from the area of attack.” He pauses, and she blinks slowly. He clears his throat. “It’s not…necessarily your father’s ashes, but some part of it might be. She said she thought you might appreciate it, having something to hold on to, having a tiny bit of closure.”

The front door clicks shut as her fingers slacken. Her legs wobble, and her hand, trembling, brushes the lid of the jar, slides around to the bottom, just grazing Sai’s fingers.

The glass is warm, somehow.

Her voice is worn when she replies, bringing the jar to her chest. Her eyes are glassy. “Thank you.”

-

She fucks a man with brown skin and brown hair on some low thread count sheets. He lives in a decent apartment, has a roommate and a cat, and works a civilian job involving something she couldn’t care less about.

He has a pomegranate on his kitchen counter, she notices when they stumble in, and the observation is enough to make her eyes well up with tears. He is too busy unbuttoning her blouse, fumbling with the clasp on her bra, getting his hands tangled in the ends of her hair. She is thinking about how she once stuck some of the ruby red, glossy seeds up her nose, and her father laughed all the way to the hospital.

He doesn’t make her orgasm. She gathers her things after he’s finished rutting into her, puts her clothes back on, and exits through the window.

He is awake when she slips through his balcony. “Hi,” she whispers.

Shikamaru doesn’t bother to look up from where he’s sitting, one arm resting on his bent knee, the other leg dangling off the side of the bed. He extends the cigarette to her, eyes bloodshot as he finally glances at her. “Eventful night?”

She takes a drag and passes it back to him, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “Well, I definitively can tell you that fucking the loss away does not work. Even with a guy with a big dick.”

He snorts. “Noted. Thanks for testing that out for the both of us.”

Her lips tremble into a small smile, then a choked giggle, then laughter that rips itself off like a bandage. She is laughing, and then he is rolling his eyes, and for a minute, there is both guilt and relief–cold and fresh like water from a winter stream…and then her eyes grow wet and the laughs turn into sobs, aching and empty. Her back hunches, and she curls in on herself, onto the bed, tears soaking the sheets.

“Yeah,” Shikamaru says after a long minute, voice rough. His eyes are steady on his own small, glass jar across the room. “I know.”

-

She visits Tsunade to turn in her final report outlining the details of her last mission at war. “I know I’m overdue,” she says without preamble as she walks into the office. It has low ceilings, folding chairs and rickety tables. The rebuilding had begun with people’s homes first and governmental buildings second, so Tsunade was working out of a dimly lit substitute.

“That’s fine,” Tsunade drawls. “I hate all the paperwork anyway, so it’s for the best that you kept it longer off of my desk.”

Shizune, sitting in the corner of the room at an adjacent folding table, looks up from her own large stack of manila files and glances sharply at Tsunade in rebuff. “The only thing sitting between you and retirement is this paperwork.”

“Yeah, yeah, give it a rest.” Tsunade takes a swig of sake out of the bottle. 

Ino clears her throat. “Well. I also wanted to ask your permission to leave the village.” There’s a pause, and Shizune and Tsunade both look at her with mirrored expressions of mingled concern. “Not for like, ever. Just…for a day or two.”

Tsunade sits back in her chair, lacing her fingers together. “For…?”

Ino looks away. “I don’t really know. Just to get out of here.”

She and Shizune share a glance, and then Tsunade’s eyes flutter shut. A beat passes, and then: “You have leave to go for a week.”

“I won’t need that much–”

“Go.”

She goes.

-

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sakura’s voice is crisp against the humid evening, clear against the muddied sky.

Ino pauses in her steps towards the gate, turning on her heel to see Sakura’s hands on her hips, worn face slick with sweat, hair tied up in a sagging ponytail.

“Hi,” Ino returns after a beat. “You look…gross.”

Sakura huffs, her gloved fingers slipping from her sides to dangle next to her. “Yeah, well, building houses does that to you. I pretty much permanently smell like paint thinner, now.”

“Take a shower, weirdo,” the motions of talking to Ino flow naturally, but the teasing is hollow. Ino adjusts the straps of the traveling pack on her shoulders.

“How can I when my friends are once again trying to flee the village right under my nose?”

“I’m not fleeing. I’m taking a leave of absence. A vacation. It’s been approved. It’s not like I’m vanishing into the night to join a terrorist organization unlike some people,” she pauses for emphasis, arching a pointed eyebrow at Sakura. “I’m just…going to take in nature. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Take in nature,” Sakura echoes.

Ino quickly closes the distance between them, wrapping her arms around Sakura’s tight shoulders. Then, she murmurs: “Besides, Forehead. I know I’m infinitely more important than the last person of relevance who left the village, and given how quickly you’ve gone from being upset to jumping in bed with him, I’m confident we’ll be just fine.”

Sakura’s cheeks redden, and she jerks out of Ino’s hug. “I haven’t jumped into bed with anyone.”

“Right. Sasuke’s not just anyone, now is he?” For the first time in a while, Ino feels amusement dart through her, tugging at her lips.

Sakura crosses her arms tightly, face and neck bright pink. “You can leave now.”

Ino smiles, tears brimming in her eyes. “I love you, too, Forehead. I’ll be back soon.”

-

It is when she is making camp for the night in the hollow underneath a jagged fault of limestone that she realizes this is the first time she’s ever been out of the village alone.

The sunset is orange and cream, and it is quiet. The birds had scattered hours ago, her continual rustling disturbing their peace. Only the crunch of pebbles and sand and leaves underneath her shoes mumble their continual hellos to her as she puts together her tent.

“Dad,” she whispers.

No one answers.

-

 _Leave of Absence Report_  
January 23, approx. 17:00 hours  
Yamanaka Ino

_Currently at the mouth of the Kioku River  
_ _Setting up camp for the night  
_ _Intend on visiting the port city which leads to Whirlpool to stock up on supplies_

_The last time I was here was with my dad. There’s a species of flower which grows along the coast–shaped like bells. We’d come here on a short father/daughter trip when I was very little. In the Academy, actually. I pretended to be sick that day. Dad wrote me a note to give to Iruka-sensei._

_We sat by the flowers and dug deep with our hands, coming up with the roots and all, transplanting them to our garden at home. They died a long time ago, but for a while they used to dangle just outside the window, the little bells._

_It hurts to remember. It hurts so bad._

_Sorry. Didn’t mean to clutter the report. All is well here. Keeping vigilant, especially as I near the border._

-

She dreams of her father’s hands. Holding hers, braiding her hair, pushing her on the swing, showing her how to repot a cactus, tucking her long hair behind her ear, patting her cheek after her first Chunin exam, tracing over a map, gesturing to the dinner on the stove.

His hands letting her go. 

She wakes up, face wet with tears. She looks at her own hands in the moonlight, nails bitten off, skin dry, and in them sees the shape of his palms, sees him lacing his fingers through hers.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the blue bellflower plant dangling just near her, and in its petals she sees the color of his eyes. Her fingers tighten around the glass jar she has taken to sleeping with every night, and she cries.

-

 _Leave of Absence Report_  
January 24, approx. 08:00 hours  
Yamanaka Ino

_Currently at the port city  
_ _Sake has been purchased as requested_

_I passed by a family celebrating a birthday in the city. It was the daughter’s birthday–she was carrying around a bunch of balloons._

_This past year, my dad wanted flowers for his birthday. I came back home that day with 3 dozen yellow roses, singing happy birthday to him, and he laughed so much and hugged me so tight. So, so tight. As if saying, “This is exactly what I wanted.”_

_I think I know what I’m going to get for him this year._

-

She throws his ashes off of a cliff, glass shattering against the rocks, gray dust spinning into the salty wind. Her eyes are red rimmed from weeks of grief, and her hands are scraped from when she stumbled climbing to the top of the rock formation minutes beforehand.

The moment is stuck in her throat, and the ashes swirl around her, making her eyes burn. Some nestles in the creases of her palm, and she bends to brush it off, the bundle of bellflowers at her feet rustling in response.

“You would never want to be stuck in a jar, huh?”

Neither the wind nor the sea reply.

“Happy birthday, Dad.”

-

-

**Author's Note:**

> written 1 year ago for les' birthday.


End file.
